


Thus I Chuse

by yuletide_archivist



Category: The Forbidden Game - L. J. Smith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:31:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1641602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Are you ever truly your own master?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thus I Chuse

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Khirsah

 

 

Jenny Thornton had not allowed herself much time to ponder the exigencies of the situation--for, after all, weren't the nervousness and anticipation brought on by such great changes best embodied by their very mystery?--but she really had expected it to be more exciting.

Not that it wasn't, of course. The only part of the process she had truly been worried about had been the actual moving; once the visits to her grandparents' had ceased so many years ago, save for the occasional, brief vacation, she had never awoken anywhere but her cozy bedroom, nestled beneath the eaves of her parents' roof, surrounded by the calm familiarity of her little girl furniture.

Save for a single exception. She'd never really enjoyed traveling since, had managed to talk her parents out of a trip to Key West as a high school graduation present. She couldn't bear the idea of setting foot on another airplane. Couldn't risk seeing that perfect, cerulean blue found only at 20,000 feet once more. She just couldn't.

But she had surprised herself by heartily enjoying it. Not the actual packing; interminable sorting, absolute bewilderment about where all this _stuff_ had come from, culminating in bruised knuckles and strained backs once the boxes were finally ready to be hauled up three flights of stairs. Nobody liked that. 

Nesting, though; there was something in that. Not that the dorms were any great prize; featureless brick boxes with their walls painted white, she doubted the most motivated of interior decorators could have done much with them. But seeing her own maroon quilt spread over the standard issue striped mattress had done her a bit of good; her own shining bolster pillows atop it had only enhanced the feeling. And as she had gone around the room, adding her bits of memorabilia--pictures of her friends; her posters; her white teddy bear--a feeling of deep _satisfaction_ had steadily taken hold of her. Seeing that dank little room slowly begin to transform into something recognizable, even if only in the smallest of ways... why, it was almost magical. They said that home was where the heart was, and she was here, wasn't she? It didn't matter that she was miles away from home, all alone; it wasn't anything she hadn't done before. 

She suspected she was simply enjoying the ability to exert some small measure of control over her environment, but she didn't like to think too hard about things like that. Nor was she truly alone, though she was finding it easier to pretend that she was. She didn't like to think about that, either.

The fact that they'd drifted so far wasn't surprising--not really--but it was still a source of puzzled, child-like hurt, a feeling of abandonment she couldn't quite put a name to. There was nothing explicit about it, really. Michael was studying abroad in Barcelona, and while Audrey was ostensibly spending a year conducting the Grand Tour of Europe, she had thus far managed to spend almost three months in Spain; Jenny really didn't expect her to get much farther. Summer had stayed behind, living at home while attending community college; a little disappointing, but it was hard to imagine her straying too far from the nest. Zachary... well, Zach was Zach. They simply didn't speak much, any more; there was too much they might say to one another. 

Dee was the only one who'd really kept in touch, but she was hundreds of miles away. She had tackled the matter of her dismal grade point average with the same cheerful ferocity she faced everything else life placed in her path, but it had simply been too late to make much of a difference; she'd managed to graduate on time, but hadn't managed to gain acceptance to any of the universities she had applied to. She was tearing through equivalency courses at a vocational school that offered her tuition in exchange for martial arts instruction, though, and it seemed that her plans to be Jenny's roommate in a semester or two were going to come to fruition. 

She had reiterated these plans, as well as her bafflement at becoming an ad hoc gym teacher, in the e-mail Jenny had just received. Jenny was still sitting up in bed, the hot, heavy laptop pressing painfully into her knees; she had managed to convince her parents that graduation gifts were better off practical, but she still marveled a bit at the luxury the machine conferred. But she felt the extravagance was worth it at a time like this, when the blood drained from her face and a chill ran prickly, painful fingers down her spine; she had no idea what a lab proctor would make of her fear.

For though it was a typically chatty, non sequitur, and creatively spelled missive, Dee closed it by announcing that she was having trouble sleeping.

It was stupid. Jenny _knew_ it was stupid. Dee would have complained just as bluntly of the discomforts of a bad burrito. It didn't _mean_ anything; it was just conversation.

But Jenny hadn't been sleeping well herself. And... she wondered...

The problem was that they never talked about it. _Never._ Their friendship had survived, had been strengthened, in many ways; grown strong enough to accommodate the new people that they had each become. But they had all immediately fallen back into the whirl of high school; classes, study groups, parties, prom, and then suddenly, it was all over, all of them scattered like milk thistle. There were plenty of excuses not to talk now, good ones, valid ones; it seemed that they were all taking advantage of them.

And Jenny wondered. It was a terrible feeling. There were times when she had felt swollen with it, aching to burst out in the midst of an innocuous gathering, just to get some confirmation that... well...

She wondered. Almost all the time, now. She could hardly stand it.

Snapping the computer shut decisively, she set it on the bed and leapt to her feet, only then thinking to glance guiltily at her roommate's bed; but though it was late, it was also Saturday, and Sheila might be out for hours yet. It didn't matter; Jenny found herself suddenly longing for the comfort of company, and even here, in the midst of her freshman year, she had a ready source of it.

She grabbed the jean jacket from the back of her chair, but did not so much as pause to run a hand through her dark blonde hair before leaving the room; she shrugged it on as she made her way to the stairs. The hallway was as featureless and institutional as her room; its slightly tilted ceiling, sagging under the weight of the light fixtures, gave it a sickening, funhouse yaw. Even the brightly decorated whiteboards on each door and the construction paper cutouts adorning the walls did little to cheer it up, but she had ceased noticing its failings weeks ago. A college dormitory was not the Hilton; there was no point in dwelling on it. 

Not when it was so familiar.

The door leading to the stairwell swung open at a touch. Laying a hand on the rail, she jogged down the stairs as quickly as her balance would permit, as she always did. She was not fond of the close confines of the elevator, but she told herself that it was because she enjoyed the exercise. Besides, the elevator seemed to work as often as it didn't.

Nevertheless, the cool evening air against her flushed skin was a relief; it was a crisp spring night, just humid enough for curls of mist to be rising from the neatly manicured lawns of the campus. Some of her classmates claimed to find the effect creepy, but she had always admired it. It softened the edges of the severe academic buildings and lent the scene a hazy unreality, almost as if one had stepped into a scene from a fairy tale, rather than a middle-of-the-road state university. Even in her state of unease, she couldn't resist stopping to regard it for a moment, balling her hands into the pockets of her jacket, before continuing on her intended course.

Jenny had never really expected it to happen. She had chosen this place at least partly because of its obscurity. The future gaped before her like a maze, and she had little idea of which path to take; but she'd seen no reason not to at least get some of her core curriculum out of the way while she thought about it. She hadn't had anything in particular to recommend her to a top tier school, anyway; her grades were good enough to take almost anywhere, but she was nothing stellar. She had not had breathtaking scholarships dangled in front of her. She had not had athletic recruiters dogging her steps for the last six months of her senior year. She hadn't had the world offered to her on a silver plate.

And yet Tom had chosen to follow her.

Together forever. It had been something she'd been able to rely on since earliest childhood, and she had always reveled in that security. But it had been so much less complicated then, when commitment did not involve much beyond two sets of initials laboriously carved into the bark of a tree. Now there were opportunities to be lost, future prospects squandered, life altering decisions to be made... and in her heart of hearts, she could not convince herself that Tom had chosen entirely wisely. Nor could she silence the part of herself that whispered that it was only fair; she had followed him quite a bit further.

But some things never changed, and Tom had, of course, rushed and been easily inducted into the preeminent fraternity on campus, Phi Kappa Ro, as befitted his status as one of the finest freshman quarterbacks the school had ever seen. No cage-like dorm rooms for him; the Kappas occupied a sprawling Victorian pile on Fraternity Row, a few minutes' walk from the main campus. Jenny cheered a bit as its distinctive cupolas loomed into sight; contrary to the stereotypes she had nervously recalled when Tom had enthusiastically announced his acceptance, they were a friendly, agreeable bunch, and she looked forward to drowning her worries in their den of amiability.

Yet something about the house's normally welcome facade gave her pause as she drew closer; it took her a moment to realize that not a single light appeared to be on. She felt a faint prickle of unease; while they were not one of the hardest-partying groups on campus, it was Saturday night. Even if they were not hosting an event of their own, as they obviously weren't, some of them ought to be knocking around the place. Even if there were a sorority mixer, or some other event that commanded the entire brotherhood's attendance, surely one of them... or they'd have left the porch lights on, or...

Jenny stood at the foot of the broad wooden stairs, chewing her lip. She'd never seen the place look so deserted; but, then, she'd never really paid much attention to how occupied the house was at any given time, either. Her feet were moving before she had consciously made up her mind; her knuckles were rapping on the thick oak door before she realized that she intended to.

Silence.

It was silly, really. There was an old fashioned chain doorbell directly beside the door; no one would hear her knocking unless they happened to be in the living room. But that was where the majority of them congregated; if someone answered, fantastic, but if no one was there to hear, she wouldn't be disturbing anyone, if there was in fact anyone to be disturbed.

She knocked again.

It was also silly because she knew very well that the front door was unlocked; the fraternity explicitly maintained an open door policy. But she had never taken advantage of it because it seemed rude to go wandering around their home, even when tacitly invited to do so; and because, in Tom's first week of residence there, she had been given yet more cause to wonder.

And what if _he_ answered the door?

Galvanized, Jenny spun on her heel; it was all she could do not to leap down the long, low steps as she hastened back the way she'd come. She was halfway back to the quad before she was able to summon enough will to slow her strides to a normal pace.

It was _stupid_. She was overreacting. She _knew_ that. But that first week, that first visit... She swallowed thickly at the memory, an uncanny mixture of resentment and fear sloshing in her belly. It had been perfectly normal. Tom had just moved in, and had invited her over to meet the guys. It had gone swimmingly, and she'd greatly enjoyed herself, until it came time to visit the restroom. The house was a warren of hallways and odd cubbyholes, remodeled and repurposed a dozen times over the years at the whims of its various owners, so Tom had volunteered to show her where it was, even though, as it turned out, he wasn't entirely certain himself. They had ended up in the kitchen, which had been no great hardship... not until she caught sight of that lean, lanky shape shrouded in the darkness at the far end of the room; not until a beam of moonlight had shown her gleaming white hair, and a tilt of the head had revealed those perfect, knowing blue eyes.

It had been all she could do not to scream.

She was glad she hadn't, of course, for a moment later she was introduced to Jason, a fellow quarterback whose shaggy hair had been cut and bleached into a perfect surfer dude style, come downstairs to raid the fridge without disturbing the party. But it had been a bad, bad moment. And when she had looked up at Tom, hoping he would be able to read the panic and confusion in her face, all she had received in return was a look of puzzled, uncertain concern.

They never talked about it. _Never._

She hadn't had the heart to bring it up herself. She was beginning to wonder if there was anything to talk about.

But that kind of thing didn't bear thinking about; not now, at least, when she was already so keyed up. She planted her feet in the soft loam beneath her, swiveling her head to take in the campus buildings. It would be easy enough to find a party, or at least some acquaintances to visit; but she didn't really want that, didn't want to pretend her nerves weren't so tightly wound in front of virtual strangers. If the ones who had actually been there didn't understand, they certainly wouldn't. 

But she didn't want to go home.

And she did have that European History paper due on Monday. The library did not provide the most congenial of surroundings, nor was it likely to provide her with the company she had originally sought, but it would be open, even at this hour. She ought to do something with all of this nervous energy besides torment herself with it. 

The library was only a quick detour away; the warm, amber light that flanked its entrance were easily visible through the faint mist. It was one of her favorite buildings on the campus; it looked like a college ought to, dressed white stone and columns out front. On most days a handful of students were scattered around its steps, chatting and taking in a bit of fresh air, but tonight Jenny passed no one as she ascended.

She glanced around briefly as she entered, and realized with a start that no librarian manned the dark wooden circulation desk. She froze, her hand still resting on the brass handle of the entrance door, poised to flee--but no. She glimpsed a figure moving across the doorway that led back into the office, and heaved a small sigh of relief, suddenly amused with her own foolishness. It was late on a Saturday night; of course the librarians had better things to do than linger at the front desk on the off chance that a student might need assistance. Jenny might well be the only patron in the building at this time of night; the faculty had been debating the necessity of keeping a twenty-four hour library for weeks now.

She moved past the desk slowly, eyeing the small silver bell at its edge speculatively. She knew her way around a card catalog as well as anyone, but her topic was the Lapland War, not something she had ever heard of before the professor had described it; she might well benefit from the help of a trained professional. But her purpose here was personal as much as it was educational; she could do with a search to occupy her mind. All she really needed right now were the references, anyway. Grabbing a few sheets of scratch paper from the pile on the desk, she made a beeline for the catalog; a few moments and a nasty card stock paper cut later, she had a few likely candidates, and set off in pursuit of them.

Sucking her thumb, Jenny scanned the signs on the ends of the shelves as she made her way down the main corridor. Nine twenty, nine thirty, and... there. She ducked into the narrow stacks, peering at the labeled volumes. Her eyes blurred fiercely enough to make her rub them as she bent over to squint at call numbers, and she shook her head to clear it. Perhaps she should have gone back to the dorm; she must be more tired than she had thought. But she was here now, and might as well get it over with; she just needed enough notes to make up a basic outline from. Being able to type in the privacy of her own room was a luxury she treasured. 

Unfortunately, it seemed that both books she had identified as pertaining directly to the conflict were missing; hardly surprising, as she knew of at least four other students that had been assigned the same topic, but disappointing. She'd be stuck leafing through weighty tomes on World War II itself, hunting for references. But she was only writing an overview; it shouldn't be too difficult to ferret out enough information to get on with. She gathered an armload of encyclopedic volumes and headed back to the study carrels.

Jenny was a good student, and a diligent one when confronted with the unknown, as she was now; but she found it incredibly slow going. She'd fished a pen out of her jacket as soon as she'd sat down, but had yet to make a single mark on the page. She longed for a highlighter. She longed for a book that wasn't composed of tiny type on paper so thin she risked tearing it with every turned page. She longed for a topic she was comfortable enough with to finesse her way through.

Lacking any of that, she read on.

But her eyes were growing hazy and unfocused, the letters blurring beneath her tired, strained gaze. She gave up and flipped to the appendix, giving up on the chapter that had seemed like the best bet, but was dismayed when it appeared as nothing but a jumble of letters and numbers. She propped her elbows on the tables and knuckled her eyes, then rested her forehead against her fists. Sometimes, she supposed, it was better to quit while you were ahead. She at least had the titles now; perhaps the books she'd actually hoped to find would be back tomorrow. She was tired enough now that she'd probably be able to get to bed with little trouble; all she had to do was pack up and trudge her way home.

 _Flash._

Jenny squeezed her eyes even more tightly shut against the backs of her fingers, shaking her head gently; she hadn't realized she'd been leaning against them hard enough to send floaters across her vision.

 _Flash._

She hadn't.

_Flash._

Her head jerked up at the realization that she wasn't simply seeing things; she blinked furiously to clear her vision, looking around in confusion.

_Flash._

She jerked to her feet, sending the chair skittering away with a noisy clatter, turning in place as she attempted to identify the source of the blinding sheets of light.

_Flash._

There. The ceiling. Tiny round domes marched along the vaulted ceiling in ordered precision; they emitted their stark-white blaze in synchonicitous regularity. She gaped at them for a moment, dumbfounded; she could not imagine what their purpose might be. Emergency lighting? Had the power gone out? But then--no, she realized, swiveling once more. This was why freshman orientation was so important, she thought dazedly. This was part of the fire alarm system.

She wasted another moment on startled incomprehension before the reality of the situation sunk into her: run. She wove through the rows of study carrels, hastening for the main entrance; there had to be other exits, but she didn't dare waste time on trying to discover where they were. She could hear nothing as she pounded down the corridor: no braying sirens, no shouts of alarm or sounds of movement, but it didn't matter; that was why the systems were redundant. "Hey!" she cried, already half out of breath, "hey, get out of here!"

No one answered her call; her flight through the narrow rows of shelving was punctuated only by the bright, camera-flash snap of the overhead lights. It threw the shelves into stark relief, making them seem to loom even higher above her. The air rasping in her lungs carried with it no scent of smoke, but she could all too easily imagine the deep, crackling rustle of burning paper as the fire leisurely crawled its way towards her; had a nightmarish vision of one of the massive shelves, engulfed in flames, finally losing its structural integrity and raining fiery missiles upon her in the moments before it crushed her beneath its--

She hit the marble flooring of the entryway with nearly ecstatic relief, the polished stone squeaking beneath her shoes as she struggled to keep her balance. Righting herself, she hurled herself around the circulation desk, catching its corner for momentum--

\--and slammed into the doors with punishing, bruising force.

Jenny staggered backwards, too stunned for a moment to realize what had happened. They opened outwards--all she should have to do was push, but-- Her fingers sought the handles, cursing the miserable fortune that had caused them to get stuck at this of all times--

\--and recoiled in horror as her fingers met the cool, steel links of the chain that was wrapped around them, securing the doors against any force she could hope to throw at them.

She looked down in horrified, aching disbelief; her gaze then flew to the circulation desk, hoping for an answer to an impossible question. She tugged at the chain, hoping against hope that it would come loose in her hands; when it remained steadfast, she gave it a furious, panicked yank.

"Come now," a smooth, silken voice purred from the shadows behind her. "Where would the fun in that be?"

Jenny stood stock-still, her spine ramrod straight. She didn't turn around; she _couldn't_. She knew who stood behind her; she knew, just as surely, that there was no way he could be there. The world gave a nauseating lurch as what was attempted to reconcile itself with what could never be.

"They say that once a flatworm learns to navigate a maze, if it's fed to other flatworms, they'll be able to run the same maze on the first try," the voice continued, as if having an idle conversation; but it was much, much closer now. Her hands balled into fists; her knees began to shake. "I wonder if that would work for you."

" _Julian._ " The name seemed to tear itself from her throat, dragging itself past her teeth with a snarling groan. 

He laughed delightedly, as if pleased to be recognized. "The clock is ticking, Jenny." The words were spoken almost directly into her ear; if she leaned back, she would touch him.

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. She no longer had to wonder; and yet, in that moment, she would have given anything for the return of her uncertainty. "You promised no more games, Julian," she said brokenly.

"You forgot the inscription."

Something brushed against her cheek, feather-light; she could not tell if it was the tips of his long, elegant fingers, or the soft, wispy caress of his hair.

He was going to kiss her.

And she was going to--

\-- _fall_. The floor tilted beneath her as she scrambled for balance; her arms flailed desperately as she struggled for an anchor. Her fingers dug their way into thick, coarse fabric and she seized on it as she would a lifeline, but it gave and lurched towards her as she tried to haul herself up.

"Jenny!"

Her eyes flew open at the unexpected cry; a warm, firm arm slipped itself beneath the small of her back as a knee banged into her thigh. She planted her feet firmly on the floor, relieved to find it where she was expecting it, and sat bolt upright, blinking away her confusion to find herself face to face with Tom's puzzled, alarmed countenance.

" _Tom?_ "

"Jeez, Thorny!" he replied with an uncertain laugh, reaching up to grip her biceps. "I didn't mean to scare you like that, but--wow!"

"I--" She looked around in confusion, struggling against the adrenalin still flooding her veins. She was still in the library. She was still at her carrel. The books were still piled before her. Tom watched her uncertainly.

"Brian said you'd come by the house, but you took off in a hurry before he could get to the door," he told her slowly. "When you weren't at your dorm, I figured..." He trailed off, obviously choosing his words with care. "Is everything okay, Jenny?" He searched her face. "I mean, this is a heck of a place to come for a nap."

She shook herself in an attempt to clear the cobwebs from her mind; those brought by sleep being the very least of them. Tom knelt before her. There was nothing to wonder about in his steadfast devotion.

"Yes," she said, only a little surprised to realize that she actually meant it. She smiled, and reached up to take his hand. "Everything's fine. I just needed a little reminder."

 


End file.
